


We All Need Someone To Hold

by emmyphant



Series: One Shots [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hair Washing, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, References to Torture, Sleepy Cuddles, admitting feelings, character injury, prison escape fic, prison fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27402652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmyphant/pseuds/emmyphant
Summary: After the Doctor left them on Gallifrey ten months ago to go off on a suicide mission, Yasmin Khan hasn't been the same. But, one night at work, she gets a call about a blonde woman. Could this mysterious figure be the Doctor, after all this time?
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: One Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037748
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	We All Need Someone To Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WalkerLister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkerLister/gifts).



> Hi! So I originally wrote this for my November series of one-shots, Dew Drops, but then it ended up being quite long so I decided to post it as a separate fic too! Enjoy :)
> 
> I'm also gifting this to the wonderful @walkerlister, her works have made me so happy and she's such an amazing writer and friend! Plus she loves a bit of angst, so this is for you :)  
> (Ps if you haven't read her prison fic, 'Counting the Days' I would highly recommend hopping over there and reading that!)

Yasmin Khan sits in the driver’s seat of the police cruiser, starting resolutely at the raindrops chasing each other down the window. Beyond the thick glass, the city of Sheffield lies dark, dirty, quiet.  _ Quite like me, _ she thinks. Ever since the Doctor had disappeared off on her suicide mission among the ruins of Gallifrey almost ten months ago, Yaz had been dragging herself through everyday life with the very scraps of her remaining energy.

At first, getting out of bed had been impossible. Her limbs felt like lead, so she lay starting at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. When she had first stuck them up at age nine, they had been full of dreams and hope for her future. Now they were full of memories and grief. But she found that however hard she tried, she couldn’t will herself to take them down. She couldn’t. In some strange way, it felt like dishonouring the Doctor’s memory. So on her ceiling they had stayed.

On the tenth day, she had hit the anger stage of the grief with full force — if that’s what one could call it, how could she grieve if she didn’t know whether the Doctor was dead or alive? She had cried and screamed and punched things until her throat was hoarse and her knuckles were bloody. Sitting on her bedroom floor, she had divulged everything to her mother while she attended to the split and bruised skin of her hands. Who the Doctor really was,  _ is,  _ how they had met each other, what they had done together, how Yaz really feels about her. Perhaps the most importantly, that Yaz had never been able to tell her truly how she felt about her. Her mum had then simply held her, forced her to take leave from work and put her on a waiting list for grief counselling.

Yaz had tried to argue that it would be no use, how could a grief counselor help her get over the disappearance of her time-travelling alien best friend and potentially unrequited love? But, Najia had been unrelenting and so Yaz had attended all ten sessions. It must have worked to some extent, because after the fifth, she had been cleared to go back to work and by the tenth, the image of the Doctor shaking her off and walking away from them no longer haunted her every time she closed her eyes. Just some of them.

Yaz had eventually passed her probationary period and become a fully-fledged police constable, but it still felt as though something was missing. She had worked hard for two years to get to that point, to graduate, but she had to force the smile onto her face that day. Despite being mostly free from the monotony of parking disputes and teenage troublemakers, her routine now still feels mechanical and forced, like she’s _ waiting _ to get back to her life with the Doctor.

Moving into her own flat had helped a little; a place where she could start over, a place that wasn’t steeped in memories, a place where she could gain some independence. But, without her parents and her sister around twenty four-seven to distract her, she had quickly fallen into a routine of working, eating and sleeping. Existing, rather than actually living.

Now, sitting in a steamed up patrol car with her partner at 2am on a Tuesday watching the raindrops roll down the window, the grief hits her again. Or loss. Whatever you want to call it, there’s not really a word to describe “my best friend went on a suicide mission to stop a new alien army taking over the universe and I don’t know if she survived or not and I’ll probably never know.”

Anyway.

Whatever it is, it hits her. She draws back from the window, choosing to stare at her hands in her lap instead.

“Penny for them?”

Yaz’s head whips up to look at her partner next to her, her face illuminated in an eerie mixture of blue and yellow from the dashboard of the car and the streetlamp outside.

“Hmm?”

“You just looked very deep in thought there, Yasmin,” she smiles, the movement crinkling the skin around her eyes. So very Doctor-like.

Yaz likes PC Laura Redman. She is upbeat, positive, and most importantly, respects Yaz. She had been on the force longer than Yaz, eight years longer in fact, but Yaz still finds that they got along well. In fact, she had secretly been extremely glad that she had been partnered with her immediately after her graduation. It had seemed that the feeling had been mutual; Laura’s previous partner had been old, male, and far too traditional in his views about women as their place in the world. So when she had been assigned a young, freshly-graduated female officer, she had been over the moon. In turn, Yaz is glad her first partner as an actual officer properly respects her and listens to her opinion, rather than pushing her to one side like previous partners had done.

Could she trust Laura? Of course she would never tell her about the whole regenerating, time travelling alien thing, but could she still discuss things with her?

“Just a few things on my mind,” she reassures, taking a sip of the takeaway coffee cup sitting in the cup holder between them. It’s gone cold. She grimaces.

“Well if you want to talk about them, I’m all ears. Plus it’s 2am on a Tuesday at the edge of Sheffield, I doubt we’ll be getting many calls.”

Yaz chuckles softly in agreement, thumbing the edge of her stab-vest. It’s usually uncomfortable to sit in, but the late December temperature is harsh and it’s helping keep the chill off.

They sit in a companionable silence a little longer, listening to the rain falling on the roof of the car and the radio static. It’s peaceful, calm, Yaz decides. She likes that Laura doesn't feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, that can just appreciate the silence. Maybe if Yaz tries a little harder, she could actually become friends with her and not just a colleague.

The thought prompts Yaz to talk.

“I lost someone,” she starts, voice as even as she can manage. “About ten months ago now.”

Yaz can hear Laura’s breathing change over the sound of the rain, the radio static, the heating in the car. Her heart is in her mouth.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is that why you took leave from work?”

Yaz turns and looks at her properly in her surprise.

“How did you —?”

“There aren’t many probationary officers who can take a significant amount of leave and still graduate on time. It’s impressive,” she notes, taking a sip from her water bottle. “But don’t worry, all they told me was that you had been away for personal reasons.”

Yaz nods slowly. The ball is well and truly in her court now, anything Laura knows from this point on will come directly from her. She has to choose her words carefully.

“It was. I was grieving. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Laura probes gently. Her open and honest tone prompts Yaz to keep talking.

“She … disappeared. Not too easy to grieve when you don’t even know if the person is dead or not,” she shrugs, flippantly. That fact, she has accepted by now. It doesn’t mean it’s any easier to deal with.

“And now, the longer it goes on, the harder it is to believe she’ll come back?” 

Yaz looks at Laura again, studying her expression. It is not pitying, like so many people have been. Nor is it dismissive, like she doesn’t believe what Yaz is telling her. It is somewhere in between, an understanding that Yaz is hurting, but an encouragement to not let that hurt suffocate her.

“Yeah. It’s just been so long.”  _ But has it been as long for her?  _ Yaz silently adds. She doesn’t know.

“Did she mean a lot to you?”

Yaz nods slowly, her breaths shaky. “The universe.”

They sit looking at each other, allowing the enormity of the moment to settle, to stop shifting the air in the car until it can settle again.

No sooner has the tension dropped from the air than it’s reignited again in the form of Yaz’s radio coming to life from where it’s clipped to her jacket and the voice of Yaz’s sergeant crackles down the line.

“Khan and Redman, are you in patrol car 13 and ready to respond?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you down here, at the warehouses. Two civilians, an American guy and a blonde woman with him. He doesn’t seem to have any idea where they are, and the woman isn’t saying anything. Except your name.”

Yaz’s heart jumps into her mouth. It couldn’t be, could it?

“We’re on our way, sir. ETA ten minutes.”

“Okay. And Khan?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Be quick, she’s in a bad way.”

Yaz swallows against the nausea rising from her stomach. Now is not the time to freak out. Even if it’s not the Doctor, whoever it is needs her help.

“We will be, sir.”

Without a word, Yaz buckles her seatbelt and takes the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip, pulling away from the curb and driving them through the darkened streets of Sheffield as fast as she dares. To her relief, Laura doesn’t say anything the whole trip: she can tell Yaz is only just holding it together, and the wrong words at the wrong moment might just tip her over the edge.

Yaz reaches the location in just over seven minutes, jumping out of the vehicle mere milliseconds after she parks it. She clocks her sergeant standing off to one side, and sprints over to him.

“Where is she?” she asks, without so much as a hello.

Wordlessly, he points to the shadows cast by the wall of one of the buildings. Sure enough, sitting slumped against the grey wall, is a blonde figure. Except it doesn’t look like the Doctor. Lank, greasy hair hangs limp, obscuring her face. A filthy red jumpsuit hangs off her skinny frame; the fact that she’s seriously underweight is obvious from here, and Yaz can see dried blood encrusted in the space where her pale, bony wrists stick out from the ends of the jumpsuit.

She looks up and to the left, where another figure is standing. This one is much more recognisable, and it’s none other than Captain Jack Harkness. Yaz has only met him once, briefly, but he had said that he was a friend of the Doctor and had warned them about the Lone Cyberman. So, if that’s Jack, then that must make the figure on the floor, the Doctor.

Yaz stands frozen to the spot for a moment, staring at the figure slumped on the floor. That couldn’t be the Doctor, could it? But it is, it is the Doctor. She’s right in front of her, and she doesn’t know what to do. A hand on her shoulder makes her jump, and she turns around to see Laura standing next to her, a worried look in her eyes.

“PC Khan, are you alright?”

Yaz swallows against the nausea in her throat.

“It’s her,” she whispers, trying to control the wobble in her voice.

Laura nods slowly. “You should be the one to go over there. I’ll keep everyone else back, give you some space, but I’ll be right here if you need me, okay?”

Yaz nods slowly, and turns towards where the Doctor is slumped against the wall. She squares her shoulders, but it’s more false confidence than anything else. Making her way over slowly to the corner, she crouches down a few feet away from the Doctor,  _ her  _ Doctor.

“Hey,” she says quietly. The Doctor still jumps, scrambling backwards into the wall and refusing to meet her gaze. Yaz’s heart sinks, and she falls backwards to sit cross-legged on the cold, damp tarmac, her hands out in front of her.

“Doctor, it’s me, it’s Yaz. I’m here for you.”

“No! Stop, this is cruel! Haven’t you done this enough already?” The Doctor’s voice is choked with sobs, and Yaz wants to cry herself. Of all the ways she could have imagined seeing the Doctor again, this is not the way she would have wanted. But, it’s what she’s doing.

“Doctor, what do you mean?”

The Doctor shakes her head hard, looking up to meet Yaz’s gaze for the first time. The police officer breathes in sharply. Her skin is pale and grey, eyes sunk into her skull and her cheeks hollow. There’s dark, angry bruising working all the way up the right side of her face, ending in an impressive black eye and a sizable graze on her forehead.

“You’re not real. You’re a hallucination,” she spits, curling in on herself and trembling even harder. Yaz’s heart breaks in two. Even though the Doctor doesn’t think she’s there, she’s still terrified of her. And that speaks volumes about what she could have possibly been through.

“Doctor, I promise you, I am right here, I’m real. You’re in Sheffield, on Earth, in 2020. I don’t know how you got here, but you did, and I’m right here for you.”

“Vortex manipulator,” Jack finally pipes up, standing up properly from where he was standing against the wall. “I broke into her cell, got her out of there. She was convinced I wasn’t real either.”

Yaz nods slowly.  _ So she was probably in prison. _ “Thank you, Jack. Could you go and speak to my sergeant over there, ginger guy? Do whatever you need to do to assure him I’ve got this under control.”

“Sure thing,” Jack nods. “I’ll be seeing you, Doc. And nice to see you again, Yaz.”

Yaz shoots him a grateful, if tight-lipped smile. She’s on her own with the Doctor now.

“Doctor.” Yaz softens her voice as much as she can. “I know you’re scared, and you’re vulnerable, and I know how much you hate that. But I’m real, I’m sitting right in front of you. How can I convince you that I’m not a hallucination?”

The Doctor sits silent and still, unblinking for so long that Yaz fears she might have actually stopped breathing. If her face is that bad, Yaz dreads to think how bad the damage to the rest of her body is.

“Tell me something only Yaz would know,” she whispers eventually, almost like she’s scared that if she speaks the words into existence, Yaz will be ripped right away from her.

Yaz wracks her brains. She has to think carefully. This could be the difference between getting the Doctor back, and, well … Yaz doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

“When we were investigating Barton, and I got taken by the Kasaavin. I turned up in that glass cage thing inside O’s hut in Australia. You saw me, and you looked so scared for me. I’ve never seen you look so scared.”

_ Apart from now. _

The Doctor nods slowly, tears welling up in her bloodshot eyes as she properly looks at Yaz for the first time.

“It’s you, you’re really real,” she whispers, disbelief and fear still weighing heavy in her tone.

“Yeah,” Yaz whispers back, a small smile gracing her face. “I’m real, Doctor, and I’m right here for you. I’m with you, no matter what.”

The Doctor very slowly and very tentatively reaches out a shaking hand for Yaz to take, and Yaz bum-shuffles the last few feet towards the Doctor. As soon as she’s within touching distance, the Doctor grabs her hand and tugs Yaz towards her with a surprising amount of strength considering how malnourished she is. 

Not wanting to wait a single second longer, Yaz gathers her bony form into her arms, holding her tightly and soothing her.

“You’re safe now Doctor, I’ve got you and I’m not going to let you go.”

The Doctor nods against her neck, and Yaz could cry with relief. The Doctor is here, back on Earth, and she’s in Yaz’s arms.

Eventually, Yaz decides that they really do need to move. She can feel the Doctor shivering in her grasp, she needs to be somewhere warm and comfortable and safe.

“Doctor, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you back to my flat. I’m worried about how cold and malnourished you are, and I think you might be hurt. Does that sound like something we can do?”

There’s another significant silence, the only sound is the rain battering the ground and the corrugated metal of the warehouse roofs.

Eventually, the Doctor nods, and Yaz could sigh with relief.

“Do you think you can stand on your own?” Yaz asks in a hushed tone, she’s all too aware of how much the Doctor hates to appear vulnerable. But, at this moment, she is without question very vulnerable, and so Yaz has to treat her with care and patience.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, hanging her head in shame.

“That’s okay, we can try together.”

Yaz twists her body to search behind her for Laura. She’s standing beside the sergeant, watching Yaz and the Doctor carefully but keeping her distance, like she said she would. Jack is nowhere to be seen. But then again, she’s not surprised, he doesn’t seem like the type to stick around any longer than necessary.

“Doctor, my flat is quite a way from here. Is it okay if I ask Laura, my colleague, to drive us? She’ll drive and I’ll sit in the back with you.”

The Doctor nods again, she’s gone worryingly quiet and Yaz decides that the sooner she can get her back to her flat, the better. Yaz stands up slowly, detangling herself from the Doctor and gently maneuvering her so she’s resting against the wall again. She’s not sure she’d manage to sit up on her own.

“PC Redman, would you be able to drive us back to my flat?”

“PC Khan, are you sure about that? She doesn’t look well, are you sure she doesn’t need to be somewhere more … secure?” Her Sergeant looks unsure, doubting the young officer’s judgement.

Yaz shakes her head firmly. “No. I’ve known her a long time, she needs to be somewhere familiar right now. I can take care of her, I promise sir.”

The sergeant watches her carefully, weighing up his options. He then looks back at the Doctor from her position on the floor. She’s curled in on herself again, but she’s tentatively peering at Yaz past where her lank hair has fallen in front of her face again, thankfully obscuring most of the bruising. If the sergeant sees how bad her face is, he would force Yaz to take her to a hospital. Somehow, Yaz doesn’t think that would go too well.

“Alright, then. Well, I can move your shifts around so it’ll give you a few days off. Look after her, call me if there are any problems.” The sergeant gives Yaz another suspicious look, but she keeps her gaze firm and unyielding, and eventually he gives her a curt nod.

“Thank you, Sir. We’ve got this from here.”

Yaz nods at Laura before she makes her way back over to the Doctor slowly, narrating each action and crouching down in front of her.

“Hey, Doctor. Laura is going to drive us back to my flat now. I’m going to help you stand up by wrapping my arm around your waist, you can lean on me as much as you need to. The car is only about 20 feet away, I won’t let you go,” Yaz reassures, crouching down and watching the Doctor intently. She’s very aware that the hug they just shared is by far the most physical contact she and the Doctor have ever had in the time they’ve known each other, and they’re about to get much more up close and personal if the Doctor’s weakened and filthy state is anything to go by.

The Doctor gives another small nod of consent, and Yaz carefully wraps an arm around her middle, mindful of any bruises that may be hidden underneath the filthy red jumpsuit she’s wearing. She misses the usual rainbows.

Slowly, Yaz pulls the Doctor to her feet; she’s light, but Yaz is still taking most of the strain. She also doesn’t miss the hiss of pain when the Doctor takes her first step forwards onto her right foot, and the subsequent limp towards the car.

Eventually, they make it to the comfort of the vehicle, Yaz carefully depositing the Doctor inside and shutting the door before rounding the car and climbing in that side. She slides across to the middle seat so she can help buckle the Doctor’s seatbelt for her, and then wraps her up in her arms for the whole journey across the city.

* * *

The drive seems to take forever, but eventually they pull up outside Yaz’s block of flats. The Doctor makes no effort to move from where she’s curled into Yaz’s side when Laura turns off the ignition and the car goes dark.

“Doctor, we’re here,” Yaz whispers as she shakes her shoulders gently, trying to rouse some sort of response from the Time Lord.

The Doctor lifts her head slowly, squinting out the window to take in her surroundings.

“This isn’t your flat,” she croaks, eyes widening again with fear.

“It is, Doctor. I moved out of my parent’s flat about three months ago and I live here now,” she explains, watching the Doctor carefully.

“Yaz got her own flat,” she smiles. “Proud of you.”

Yaz smiles back, slowly unbuckling both of their seatbelts. “Thank you, Doctor. How about we go and check out that flat?”

The Doctor nods, seemingly done with speech again and allows Yaz to help her out of the car. She half walks, half carries the Doctor into her building and up in the lift until they reach her flat. At her front door, Yaz is as quiet and efficient as she can be with the lock; if the Doctor has been in prison, like she suspects, she’s probably not too fond of the sound of a lock turning. But her fingers are numb and clumsy from sitting out in the freezing rain for so long, and eventually Laura takes pity on her, taking the key and unlocking it. She holds it open so Yaz can lead the Doctor inside, immediately depositing her on the sofa. Yaz goes to stand up to grab the Doctor some food or water, she’s not too sure what’s best, but the Doctor pulls her back again and buries her face into her neck.

She’s shivering, and Yaz can hear her taking shuddering breaths through her teeth. She’s not sure whether it’s a reaction to pain, being cold, scared, or all three. Most likely all three. As much as she wants to get the Doctor cleaned up and warm, she recognises that the Doctor just needs  _ her _ at this moment, so she stays on the sofa and wraps one arm around her shoulders, the other coming to rest against the side of her head, where she gently scratches her scalp through greasy, matted hair. 

Laura gives a little noise of surprise, and Yaz looks up to see her little black cat, Luna, sauntering into the room and winding herself around Laura’s ankles. She sits down at Yaz and the Doctor’s feet and curls her tail around herself, staring intently at the new visitor. The Doctor senses her presence and glances up from her lap, smiling slightly at the jet-black feline.

“This is Luna, my cat,” Yaz answers the unasked question, reaching the hand that isn’t wrapped around the Doctor for Luna to headbutt. She does, purring loudly. It prompts the Doctor to slowly extend a hand too, and she lets out a quiet breath through her nose when Luna rubs her cheek against her fist.

“She’ll sit on your lap if you like,” Yaz offers, and the Doctor nods, perhaps with the most enthusiasm she’s managed to muster since Yaz found her. Reaching down, Yaz scoops Luna up and sets her down on the Doctor’s lap, giving her a few firm strokes until she settles. Yaz notices the Doctor’s breathing even out almost instantly, although she’s still shivering hard and her fingers and lips have a slightly blue tinge to them.

“Would you like a blanket?” Laura’s voice is soft and quiet, but it still makes the Doctor jump, knocking her bruised face against Yaz’s shoulder and hissing quietly. Yaz nods slowly, comfortingly rubbing the Doctor’s back. The material of the jumpsuit is coarse and stiff under her palm, it can’t possibly be comfortable to wear. But that probably wasn’t the point of it, comfort.

“There’s a basket of them at the bottom of my bed, first door,” she supplies, gently shushing the Doctor, who is now crying quietly against her shoulder.

Laura isn’t overly loud when she’s retrieving the blanket, but not too quiet that the Doctor can’t tell where she is and what she’s doing. Yaz knows that the Doctor has superior alien hearing, presuming it hasn’t been damaged when she’s away. But Laura doesn’t know that, and Yaz is grateful for her calming presence and consideration. While Yaz has had the training and dealt with a few cases in such a nature, it’s very different when it’s your best friend relying on you.

“I’m going to drape the blanket over both of you, so Yasmin can keep holding onto you. It’s going to go over Yasmin’s shoulder first, then over the top and then I’ll tuck it over your shoulder. There you go.”

Yaz smiles gratefully at Laura who narrates every action as she does it, and soon enough she and the Doctor are encased in one of her fluffiest blankets. Laura brings them both a glass of water, making sure the Doctor has a good grip on it in her shaky hands before letting go. Yaz waits until she’s finished drinking before she speaks again, not wanting her to startle and spill water on either herself or Luna.

“Doctor, would you like to take a hot bath? You’re pretty mucky, and I think it would help you warm up and feel a bit better if you were cleaner,” Yaz suggests gently, stroking the back of the Doctor’s hand with her thumb. She doesn’t mention it, but she also knows that if she manages to get the Doctor into the bath, she’ll be able to get a look at where else she’s hurt and hopefully be able to offer help. Despite her superior Time Lord healing abilities, Yaz thinks that might be somewhat compromised by her current state.

“Do you have bubbles?” She whispers, eyes flicking up from the cat in her lap briefly.

“I do, lots of them.”

The Doctor nods again, returning her gaze to Luna’s head, scratching behind her ears. She purs in contentment, rubbing her forehead against the Doctor’s other arm that’s curled around her stomach.

“I’ll go and run it for you, then you can stay with Yasmin,” Laura offers kindly, already making her way to the bathroom.

When the bath is run, Yaz slowly shoos Luna away and helps the Doctor up from the sofa, not missing the grunt she makes with the effort and the pain, nor the weight she’s still refusing to put through her right leg. Once in the bathroom, Yaz sits her down on the closed toilet seat and looks back to Laura hovering at the door.

“Would you mind making her something to eat?” She asks, her voice laced with guilt. Technically they’re both still on shift and this  _ is  _ a case they were called to, but there’s something very odd about her coworker being in her home.

“Of course not,” Laura reassures. “Anything in particular?”

Yaz glances back at the Doctor, a slight smile on her face as she thinks back to the first night they met.

“Fried egg sandwich?” She asks, and she grins when the Doctor nods enthusiastically.

“I’ll get on that, just call if you need me.”

“Doctor, I’m going to go and get you something to wear, and my desk lamp so we don’t have to turn on the big light, okay?”

The Doctor nods and Yaz excuses herself, nipping into her bedroom as quick as she can. She also sheds her own clothes and dresses in comfy sweats, then grabs her starry pyjamas for the Doctor and her desk lamp.

Back in the bathroom, the Doctor is trying to undo the buttons on the front of her jumpsuit but quickly getting frustrated when her numb fingers won’t cooperate. Yaz kneels down in front of the Doctor, setting the clean pyjamas down beside the sink.

“Would you like some help?” She asks softly, and the Doctor nods, hanging her head miserably.

Without making a fuss, Yaz unbuttons the filthy red material and slides it from the Doctor’s shoulders, leaving it to rest around her hips and revealing a grubby white vest top underneath. Her wrists are crusty with dried blood and bruised, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that she’s been restrained not too long ago. Judging by the dark red overall colour of the skin, it hasn’t just been a one-time event.

Next, Yaz moves down to unlace the Doctor’s boots, not her usual ones, she notes, and she slides the left one off without a problem. Apparently whoever imprisoned her didn’t think to give her socks to wear with her boots; her feet are bare and blistered. But when she tries to remove the right one, the Doctor shouts and pulls her foot away sharply, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, I’m sorry. Is your foot hurting you?”

The Doctor nods, hanging her head. Yaz reaches up to comfortingly rub her knee until she stops trembling.

“We need to get the boot off so you can get in the bath and I can look at it. I’ll unlace it all the way and make it as loose as I can, and I’ll slide it off really gently, I promise.”

It takes an age but the Doctor eventually nods, and Yaz sets to work, keeping her promise to be as gentle as she can. Despite her best efforts, the Doctor cries the whole time, biting down on her fist to try and muffle her distress. When Yaz eventually gets the boot off, it’s obvious why the Time Lord is struggling so much; her foot and her ankle are black and blue and swollen angrily.

Without a word, Yaz helps her into the bath, letting her sink happily under the bubbles until they come all the way up to her chin. Her sigh of relief is audible, and Yaz smiles.

“What do you want to do with this?” She asks gently, holding up the stiff red material of the jumpsuit.

“Get rid of it,” she mutters, lip curling in disgust.

Yaz nods in understanding, balling up the material and tossing it into the sink for the time being before turning back to look at the Doctor carefully. Her eyes are closed and she’s hovering her hands tentatively above the water, presumably hesitant to lower her bloodied, bruised wrists into the soapy water.

“I’ve got a soft flannel here, it’s brand new so the material will be really gentle on your skin. Do you want me to use it to wash your wrists and your face?” Yaz asks, showing her the flannel and gesturing towards the tap in the sink.

The Doctor looks mortified, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Doctor, no shame. I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t happy to help you, and I think you’ll be a lot more comfortable if I can clean up some of the dried blood.”

The Doctor nods slightly, resting her painful-looking wrists on the edge of the bath and taking a steadying breath. Yaz runs the flannel under the cold tap of the sink, wringing some of the excess water out before kneeling back down beside the bath. Her knees will protest at her tomorrow, but making the Doctor comfortable is much more important right now.

“Docor, the water is quite cold but I don’t want to irritate your skin. I’ll start with your forehead, then I’ll sort your wrists, okay?”

“Okay,” the Doctor echoes in a whisper, tilting her head back to rest against the edge of the bath and closing her eyes to allow Yaz to start.

Yaz works quickly and carefully, taking care not to cause the Doctor any further pain, although she still screws up her face a bit when Yaz washes her wrists and has to use her tweezers to pick out tiny fibres of rope stuck in the partially-healed wounds.

Once she’s cleaned her injuries, Yaz sets to work on washing her hair, gently combing through the tangles and matted areas before smoothing it out and giving it a thorough scrubbing with her mango shampoo and conditioner.

“S’this your shampoo?” The Doctor murmurs in question, eyes half-closed in bliss.

“Yeah. D’you like it?”

The Doctor nods slowly, smiling. “Yeah, you always smelled nice.”

Yaz pauses in her hair washing, taken aback by the Doctor’s words. Surely she didn’t actually mean that?

Deciding to ignore it, she resumes her task of washing the Doctor’s hair, before helping her out of the bath and drying her with a large towel. Finally, she helps her dress in the fluffy pyjamas, the Doctor tiring rapidly already.

“Doctor, I’m going to carry you to my bed so you can be a bit more comfortable and you won’t have to move again, is that okay?”

The Doctor just smiles at her gratefully so Yaz goes ahead and scoops her up, easily carrying her into her bedroom and setting her down on the bed, propping her up with pillows so she can sit comfortably and resting her injured ankle on another cushion before finally retrieving her first-aid kit from the bathroom and sitting back down at her feet. Just at that moment, Laura knocks gently on the bedroom door brandishing a plate with a fresh fried-egg sandwich, and the Doctor almost grins.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be off now. I need to get home to take my son to nursery,” Laura asks, and Yaz nods gratefully. She hadn’t noticed, but it’s past six in the morning.

“Thank you, really, for all your help.”

“Just let me know if either of you need anything, alright? And take care of yourselves,” she finishes, raising her eyebrows pointedly at Yaz. The statement is as much directed at her as it is the Doctor.

When Laura is gone, Yaz hands the Doctor the plate, and the Time Lord instantly takes a large bite.

“Hey, Doctor, slow down. It’s not going anywhere, and I don’t want you to make yourself sick,” Yaz chides gently, smiling at the Doctor’s guilty expression.

“I’ll wrap and ice your ankle for you while you eat, and then I’ll do your wrists.”

“Time Lords have superior healing abilities, I don’t need you to look after me,” she argues, clearly distressed about the thought of Yaz taking care of her even further.

“Doctor, you’re malnourished, you might heal faster than me but probably not as fast as you’re used to. And you spent so long taking care of me, let me do you the same for you?”

Yaz is rewarded with a defeated huff and a sigh, and the Time Lord goes back to eating her sandwich, albeit slower this time.

Yaz gently wraps and elevates her foot before slipping fuzzy socks over both her feet, finishing by snapping the icepack in the first aid kit and laying it over the swollen joint. When the Doctor is finished eating, Yaz moves onto her wrists, apologising for the sting of the antiseptic cream. She bandages them efficiently, spontaneously deciding to leave a kiss where she tucks the last piece of bandage in. She flushes immediately, dropping the Doctor’s hand back into her lap and hurriedly tidying up her supplies.

“I’ll leave you to get some rest then, I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need me,” she mutters on her way out the door.

“Wait, Yaz.”

Yaz stops in the doorway, slowly turning around and resting one hand on the doorframe while she watches the Doctor.

“Yeah?”

“Could you maybe … erm … Could you maybe stay here, with me?” The Doctor’s tone is perhaps the most vulnerable it’s been throughout this whole experience, and Yaz melts instantly. She deposits the first aid kit on top of her dresser before padding back over to her bed, sinking gratefully into navy sheets that the Doctor is holding up for her.

“Could I have a hug?” She whispers, holding open her arms shyly.

“Of course you can, Doctor,” Yaz replies, shuffling into the Doctor’s arms and wrapping her in her own embrace, holding her tight and tracing slow circles on her back. She can feel every vertebrae through the fluffy pyjama set, and it’s sharp against her soul.

“How long was it for you Yaz?” She whispers an unknown amount of time later.

“About ten months. How long for you, Doctor?”

The Doctor sighs heavily, burying her face into Yaz’s neck once again. Yaz fears she may have pushed too far.

“Too long. I missed you so much, Yaz. I missed everyone, but especially you.”

Yaz’s breath catches in her throat, and she wills herself not to cry. She  _ has _ to be the strong one in this situation. She just has to.

“Yaz — I feel like — You mean so much to me, but in a different way to everyone else. Sorry, I’m not very good at expressing things using words, haven’t exactly had much practice lately —” she breaks off with a scornful chuckle, shaking her head “— can I show you instead?”

Yaz breathes a yes, and then all of a sudden, the Doctor’s cold, chapped lips are on hers, and she’s kissing the Doctor. It’s light and fleeting, but it’s more perfect than she could ever imagine, and it more than certainly gets the Doctor’s point across.

“I feel the same way, Doctor,” she whispers, reluctant to move her forehead away from the other woman’s lest she slip away from her entirely.

“I can’t believe I waited so long to do that, Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor smiles sleepily, nuzzling her nose into Yaz’s neck.

“Me neither, Doctor.”

Yaz doesn’t get a response, other than a quiet snoring against her neck. She chuckles softly, shaking her head before settling more comfortable into the pillows, and more importantly, into the Doctor’s embrace. There are important discussions to be had and steps towards recovery to be made, but that can wait until later. For now, all Yaz wants is to fall asleep in the Doctor’s arms and to be there for her every step of the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment, they make my day. If you want to come chat, I can be found here:
> 
> Tumblr: @emmyphant  
> Twitter: @emmyphant_


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